I have questions, which is great because otherwise my mate SoCrates would deem my life unnecessary. There are things that happen around me that I don’t do. Because they’re not actions I perform, I genuinely have trouble empathising with people who habitually take part. Habitually take part? Did I really just perform that absurd and ineffectual linguistic hop scotch just because I didn’t want to end two sentences in a row with the word “do”? Fuck me. Somebody needs to teach me how to actually write because I’m wasting a lot of digital ink here. What if The Internet starts running out of space and I’m the culprit? There could be people with menacing signs, pitchforks and burning torches. If there’s no space left on the net I’ll at least be safe from topical thoughtpieces, but concerned members of the community could resort to strongly worded letters that’d make me feel bad. I’m tiptoeing through a minefield here with all the grace of a rollerblading cephalopod.
Anyway, I should actually start asking these questions instead of raising more questions for my therapist (who couldn’t keep herself from laughing today at my immense discomfort with the idea of relaxing. “What would you do” she asked “if you were made to go to the beach and weren’t allowed to swim or run around? If you just had to lie down and relax.” I blinked, reached for words and stumbled. I thought for a second and spoke up “could I still make sand castles?” She shook her head. “No. In this scenario you just have to take time off and not do anything.” As dumb as it sounds, just thinking about it made my chest tighten. My breathing got shaky. “I just.. can’t. I can’t handle that. I’m physically tense and borderline terrified right now. Let’s just chalk this up as a failure and move onto other reasons why I’m a broken person.” She knew I was joking. Mostly). So first up:
Smokers, is it difficult to stamp out your butts?
Oh man, this probably sounds so fucking passive aggressive. Really, I have no idea. I don’t smoke. I’ve probably smoked about 15 cigarettes in my life. I always stomp them out or crush them in an ash tray. Even in dreams when I’ve lit up, I always stomp out the smoke after I’ve finished it. I’m not trying to ride the moral high ground here. It’s learned behaviour. My dad was always a big time smoker and he made a point of stubbing them each time. Because I was the kind of child who got joy out of crushing ants, whenever I see a still smoking butt on the street I take glee in stomping it.
I’m not a habitual user of this product though. For me, it’s a novelty. I enjoy being able to squish something. I like seeing something still smoking and extinguishing its life. It’s like doing that thing where you wet your fingers and squash wicks. If I had to do this (INSERT HOW MANY CIGARETTES A DAY YOU SMOKE. What’s a lot? 12? 20?) times a day, it might lose its appeal. I understand how cool it looks to flick something away. I love doing it with cards and those bread bag tabs. Is it a big effort to do this every time? Or is it a can’t be fucked thing? Are there other angles I can’t see? I want to learn.
People who spit gum into urinals, what’s your ideal outcome?
Okay, this is a straight up fuck these guys moment. What do you really think is gonna happen? Where do you expect that gum to go? Your ball of chewed gum is bigger than the little pee holes in the urinal, so it’s just gonna stay there until somebody forcibly removes it. Do you know how they do that? With a fancy little urinal robot butler? With a matter-vanquishing ray? No, with their fucking hands, you insufferable dipshit. Of course they’re wearing gloves, but why does this need to be a part of their job? It doesn’t. You’re a vampiric piece of shit preying upon the expense of others to salve your own laziness and lack of consideration. You’ve been chewing it for an hour, can’t you wait another 20 seconds to spit it into the paper towel bin? You could, but you’re a malignant blight festering upon the human race. You are the reason I can’t fly to work on a jetpack yet, because you’d probably just leave it running and it’d fly off to take out an innocent passenger plane. Fuck you, just swallow it then shit it out. The result will probably look like your rotting, ebony heart.
Maaaaan is it a good thing my therapist doesn’t read this or what?